An original work of fiction
Can anyone really have cousins like this?
I feel a sense of déjà vu while I tell myself that Leah could not be as attractive as I remember. I knock on Leah's door. Again when she answers her door, she looks wonderful. This time, with a hint of glow about her.
"Hi, Leah", I greet her loudly over the ferocious yapping from Rags. "You look great!"
"Hey Shermie, come on in," she calls out while stepping back.
"How do you feel?" I ask her, opening the floodgates.
"You know, I'm not having such a great time. I've been nauseous and queasy for weeks now. At work, it's all I can do to finish the day without tossing my cookies. My doctor is telling me to take it easy for the first trimester because she is scared that I might miscarry. Meanwhile I feel so awful all the time, that it is hard to drag myself out of bed. I feel so tired at night that I just poop out by nine o'clock. My supervisor is a pain in the behind and she's expecting me to put in 80 hour weeks. All my clothes are beginning to get tight, and it's getting uncomfortable. I've got to start buying maternity clothes."
I can see that having a baby is no picnic. My last question was merely polite, and now I'm afraid of further inquiries. But I remember how to be a good listener from one of the psychology texts. "Uh, that's too bad," I muster up sympathy. This is an obvious sign to hit away.
Leah continues, "You know, I am usually very active, but the doctor advises me to take it easy for awhile. I am just going crazy from the inactivity. The most I can do is go for light walks with Rags. No more jogging--it might disturb the baby. And that, with how badly I feel; I just can't do any exercise right now."
I manage to get Leah off the baby track for maybe five minutes and we discuss dinner plans. We decide to go to a local restaurant. "I would drive, Leah, but my car was dying on the way here. It was overheating pretty badly."
"No problem, Shermie, we can take my car," she says while checking the front door to make sure it is locked.
We walk into her attached garage. A cute sports car is waiting for us there; a Mitsubishi Talon. We get into the car and make ourselves comfortable. Comfortable for a small, low slung, contoured sports car anyways. Leah keys the ignition and the car starts up nicely. I think. Actually, I can't really tell because the radio starts up also, and it is blaring painfully loudly. I don't recognize the song. Leah lowers the volume to a reasonable level and pulls out of the garage at the same time. I am impressed at the way she handles her car. I have often heard that the way women handle their cars reflects on their dancing ability.
"Yo, Leah. Is this rap?" I ask over the reasonable sound level.
"Uh, did your ex-husband leave it on a rap station by mistake?" I ponder out loud.
"Nope, I like rap. I'm kind of getting into hip-hop too."
"Oh." I ponder that one silently for awhile. "I like bluegrass music."
We are heading down a one-way Manhappening Beach street and Leah hangs a quick louie while thinking about my questionable musical tastes. "I'm not sure I know what bluegrass music is."
"It's kind of a blend of Irish music with a little country thrown in," I inform her. "The next time it's on the radio, I'll let you know.
"This is a nice car, Leah. Do you have a name for it?", I ask casually.
"Nope", Leah replies, "I never thought about naming it. I bought it used for a really good price. It's been very reliable for a sports car and I drive it for work in some bad neighborhoods."
"Oh", I say, "that sounds good."